


my tongue will tell the anger of my heart

by subliminally



Series: hold my flame and set it alight [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Canon-Typical Violence, Henry is not an oc, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, PT Leader!Akechi, Pre-Relationship, The Velvet Room (Persona Series), Unreliable Narrator, a few references to persona 3, akiren just wants to go ape shitt, of sorts, on both counts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 01:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18063812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subliminally/pseuds/subliminally
Summary: Exactly four days ago, a small town in Japan held a service for the one-year anniversary of the disappearance of Kurusu Akira.He was such a bright kid,the residents had said,he was destined for something so much bigger than us.It was a tragedy, the vanishing of someone so young. Nobody held out any hope that Kurusu was still alive, not even his grieving parents.Wakaba-san had squeezed his shoulder when he froze after watching the short segment on a display TV. “What terrible news,” she’d said, full of sympathy and feeling in a way that she had never been before this. “I don’t know what I’d do if that happened to you, RenRen.”





	my tongue will tell the anger of my heart

“It’s no good.”

Akira looks up at Isshiki, forces his eyes to focus on the version of her in the lab coat instead of the one with yellow eyes. The two exist in layers, but she can’t see it. He wishes he couldn’t either; everything is technicolour and exhausting in the testing room, and the disorientation has messed up his sense of balance in the real world, to say nothing of his dreams.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he tells her. There’s something he can manifest, she says, his own Shadow weaponised, but he hasn't been able to force himself to pull the trigger on the gun they gave him, and he can’t figure out how else to do it for the life of him. Isshiki has been kind about it, but he knows that she’s nearing the end of her rope.

“I don’t think I can do anything better than this.”

“You will,” Isshiki tuts. The click of her heels grows distant when she exits the room. Akira doesn’t know what she’s doing, if she’s talking to her staff or her government liaison. Or Shido.

It’s still not clear how Isshiki and Shido know each other, but it’s only her role as the lead researcher into this cognitive psience thing (god, it still sounds so stupid) that’s allowed Akira to be treated gently so far. _Kindness and comfort,_ she had said when he was being treated for his injuries that first night, _or the psyche could fracture._

They don’t know what would happen if the psyche of someone sensitive to the cognitive world were to shatter. Death, maybe, or something more sinister. Akira would almost try to die himself, if he was a little less tired. His Shadow has only manifested as a bright, indistinct orb for the past three weeks, and Isshiki can only be so patient. He’s running out of time.

The door is silent despite its thickness; Akira only hears Isshiki’s reentry by her shoes. He knows those shoes well by now. She sits comfortably in the observation booth and directs her gaze to him.

“Kurusu, we’re going to try something different. Is there anyone you hate?”

Akira wonders who may be listening. “Um, yeah...?”

“We’re going to conduct the test again. This time, instead of focusing on a happy memory, I want you to think about the person you hate most. Specifically, the strength of your emotions about them. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” His hands clench around nothing.

“Good. Starting the test.”

Without further fanfare, she turns off the device that keeps them safe from natives. Akira reaches for his knife and readies his stance. He thinks of Shido as he fights, his stupid fucking face superimposed over every native, bleeding and crying out in pain from wounds that slice deep into muscle. It makes for good pseudo-therapy, he guesses, but it still doesn’t stop him from getting disarmed and vulnerable once more, at the mercy of Isshiki’s steady shot to bail him out before he dies.

But the shot doesn’t come. Akira can’t see her from where he’s lying eye-to-eye with a smug-looking native.

“You’re mine,” it cooes, and all Akira can hear is _Shido._  Shido snatching him away and beating him bloody and bringing him here as nothing more than a human test subject, Shido playing the kind politician, Shido taking what he wants from women and threatening them with a smile if they dare speak up, Shido with the power of the cognitive world behind him to help realise his ambitions, and Akira thinks suddenly that he can’t let himself die here, he has to — he throws himself at the gun they issued him, hands are shaking, the gun's pointed at his head and he's desperate and afraid and he curls his finger around the trigger and  _pulls —_

**“What a predicament you’ve found yourself in.”**

Akira cries out at the sudden pain in his head, the world freezing in place before going dark. _“Wha - Who..._ are _you —”_

**“I am you. You are me. For a long time, it seemed that there was no hope for you, that you would never see beyond your own despair. But you know better now, don’t you?”**

_“I-I have to make him pay! Shido’s taken everything from me! I won’t give up until he’s gotten what he deserves!"_

**“Yes! There’s your rebellion! Let yourself feel this animosity and turn it into your weapon! Call upon my name, so that we may forge a path to vengeance that will leave no one safe from its reach! Let us be the voice of ruthlessness and purveyor of retribution, no matter the means!”**

None of this makes any sense, but at the same time, he hears it as an echoing of the rebellion in his heart. Akira screams with the pain of his Persona flying out of his body, popping and contouring itself into the shape best suited for him. His eyes are brilliant, toxic yellow, he knows without seeing them. He and his Shadow are one now, linked in soul and body. 

**_“COME! EDMOND DANTÈS!”_ **

The native who cornered him quivers at the sight of his Persona. Akira grins, a wild thing with his bloodshot eyes, and sends out a hand, disintegrating it into dust until even that fades away. The ones that had been circling in hopes of a new meal scatter before he can destroy them too, and he settles for giving his attention to Isshiki instead.

“Brilliant!” She’s ecstatic, he can tell, furiously writing notes and muttering to herself. “I’d like for you to keep engaging the natives.”

“Okay.” It’s target practise, he figures, necessary footwork to make him more ready to take on the real thing.

He will kill Shido Masayoshi. It’s only a matter of time.

 

***

 

_One night, he falls asleep only to awaken, for the first time, in a room covered entirely in blue. He staggers with the sudden sensation of standing, but does not fall, so he takes a moment to look around. A... waiting room? Akira looks for the front desk and comes face to face with a old man with a long nose and a small girl with a decorative headband, both of them watching him with large, inhuman eyes. Akira is uneasy here, itching with the need to run, but he can't see anywhere to go._

_"Fated Trickster," the man with the long nose greets nasally, which is somehow not how he expected the man to sound. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Welcome to my Velvet Room. It is a place between mind and matter, dreams and reality. While the you in reality remains asleep, your soul has been brought here to aid in your journey. My name is Igor, and my assistant is Lavenza."_

_"Master," Lavenza says with a touch of hesitance. "This form..."_

_"Yes, it is interesting." Igor gestures around them. The plain walls of the waiting room look too small to fit someone as unsettlingly foreign as him. "This room reflects the state of one's heart. For it to appear in such a form... Perhaps I should be blunt."_

_"My heart's a waiting room?" Akira asks in distaste, but neither Lavenza nor Igor seem to pay him any mind._

_"Trickster, you have a difficult journey ahead of you. The consequences of failure are quite dire, I'm afraid. The end of your life as you know it, along with the lives of countless others. With the assistance of Lavenza and myself, you may yet become strong enough to prevent it. Would you form a contract with us, in the interest of humanity?"_

_The answer seems obvious. He has no reason to trust a dream._

_"No."_

He awakens immediately afterwards, for real this time, and sleep eludes him for hours.

 

***

 

Akira hates when Shido requests audience with him. They’re only ever requests as a formality; he’s tucked away in unmarked cars with windows that he can’t see through and blindfolded every time he has to go to Shido’s office. They can’t let him find out where the facility is, after all, or he may try to escape it. If he escapes, they could just kill him, but Shido desperately doesn’t want it to come to that. He wants a return of investment. It’s pathetic — Akira hates how an adult man needs the obedience of a fourteen year old to achieve whatever twisted world he’s envisioning for the future.

There are bugs pinned in frames on the walls. One of them is a butterfly, unnaturally blue. Akira wants to pull it free and watch it fly away.

“I’ve been told that you’re progressing well,” Shido begins. “You’ve manifested your Persona — a powerful one, at that.” He’s dripping with false praise, but Akira’s never given a shit about being accepted.

“Yeah. Isshiki-san says that I’m getting strong enough that she’d like me to try wandering the Collective on my own and telling her what I find.”

“Incredible.” The next pause is too heavy. Akira wants the bugs around them to take him, to eat him or drag him away before Shido can say what he thinks he’s going to say. He would die a hundred times before becoming Shido's tool.

“I believe your time with her is coming to a close. My work is only just beginning, after all, and we need all the time we can get so I may steer Japan to its golden years.”

Shido smiles blandly. His eyes are empty. If Akira squints, he can see his Shadow overlaid. “She’ll need to be dealt with, of course. I’m sure it won’t be a problem for someone with your ability.”

For a moment, all Akira can see is blazing red. His nails dig crescent cuts into his palms and it’s all he can do to stop himself from grabbing one of Shido’s stupid paperweights and slamming it into his skull until he’s lifeless on the table. In a room of bugs, he’s the only insect, the parasite, the disease. He’s utterly abhorrent, a sorry waste of human resources.

“It won’t.” He grits it out, pictures the fractured syllables as Shido’s bones. “I’ll do it.”

“See to it that you do, Kurusu. I don’t take kindly to betrayal.”

 

***

 

All around, scribblings; some of it gibberish to him — _local temperature of the objective psyche (Collective) approx. 0C and low relative humidity (RH) approx. 25% regardless of level or Conscious world conditions, natives materialise and dematerialise at will, natives disinterested in attacking nonhumans even with provocation —_ some of it sloppily written pleas to be a better mother.

Akira wonders if Isshiki Futaba will be killed next, if Shido is that careful about loose ends and that callous about human life. The answer is in his very presence.

“Isshiki-san,” he greets from behind the barrel of his gun. Cautious, careful. Shadows are often dangerous.

“Kurusu.” His finger is on the trigger guard. She must see that.

“Shido wants you dead.”

She sighs, pushes up her glasses. “He’ll destroy my work too, I assume?” They both know that he will. “I won’t fight you, if that’s what you’re waiting for. All I ask is that you keep my daughter out of this. She’s only a child. If something were to happen to her —”

“No,” Akira blurts in a rush. The hand with the gun lowers to face the dirty floor, crawling with nothing but thick, blackish veins that spread up the walls.

“No. I’m not gonna kill you. The gun was only in case you lunged at me or something — I’m not doing _shit_ for that bastard. I just wanted to talk to you somewhere he can’t spy on us. Can you report back whatever I say to the other you?”

Isshiki is sensitive to the cognitive world too, even though she can’t use a Persona. It’s why she could stay in the room with him when he entered the Metaverse to manifest Edmond Dantès. Akira’s plan is built around the chance that the sensitivity will let them speak freely, and he has an appointment with a cleaner if he’s wrong. It’s a stupid plan, a terrible gamble, but he can’t think of any better ideas. There’s no way that Shido isn’t having both of them surveilled.

A payout sounds when Isshiki nods. “I’m aware of myself, more or less. Precise detail will be difficult, but I will remember most of this.”

“Okay. I was thinking… you should fake your death.”

“Naturally. I’ve had preparations for that possibility. What about you?”

“I’m gonna disappear. It’ll look like I fought your Shadow and we both died, so Shido won’t be looking too hard for me. I’ve been swiping money for a while when your assistants weren’t looking and I should have enough now to get a taxi to an orphanage. I’ll give them a fake name, tell them that I’ve been living on my own for a while, and —”

“That’s enough.” Isshiki’s voice is sharp enough to sting. Despite himself, Akira’s mouth snaps shut. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You arrived from the designated section of Kanazawa Station, correct?” A noise of agreement. “Don’t leave the Collective for another…”

She thinks quickly. “Two hours.”

“What’re you going to do?” he asks anxiously. For the first time in a while, he feels his age. He doesn't want to be trapped here, where the worst side of humanity is on full display, without the slightest clue what's going on in the real world. He wants to go _home_.

But Isshiki is already beginning to disintegrate; she’s going back to her conscious self. He doesn’t get an answer before she leaves him with nothing but his own breathing and the echoey creaks of the Collective.

 

***

 

Folding laundry is one of his favourite chores, after washing dishes. It’s important enough to be satisfying to complete, easy enough for his mind to wander when he wants it to, and mindless enough for him to zone out and think of nothing. He folds two loads of laundry with delicate precision, shaking his hair out of his eyes every now and again. It’s taking some time to get used to.

Exactly four days ago, a small town in Japan held a service for the one-year anniversary of the disappearance of Kurusu Akira. _He was such a bright kid,_ the residents had said, _he was destined for something so much bigger than us._ It was a tragedy, the vanishing of someone so young. Nobody held out any hope that Kurusu was still alive, not even his grieving parents.

Wakaba-san had squeezed his shoulder when he froze after watching the short segment on a display TV. “What terrible news,” she’d said, full of sympathy and feeling in a way that she had never been before this. “I don’t know what I’d do if that happened to you, RenRen.”

Akira finds a shirt in the laundry that his mother had bought him on one of her trips. There are flowers on it, a small pattern in black and red that she had known he would love. That lifetime, that Kurusu Akira, is officially dead now, a cold case and no body. He’d always thought that being dead would hurt less.

The shirt still warm from the dryer when he pulls it on. Amamiya Ren. Amamiya Ren. It’s supposed to be temporary, but it still feels like he’s lost something he’ll never get back.

There’s no time to grieve. He still has to put all of the clean clothes away.

He curls up in the old shirt and cries for hours anyway. When Wakaba-san finds him, she doesn’t say anything, just pulls his head into her lap and strokes his hair until he falls asleep.

They’ve both lost so much.

 

***

 

Akira keeps his head down at school. Wakaba-san does all of the reconnaissance with the connections that she doesn’t explain to him, so his responsibility is to keep his head down unless she needs him in the Metaverse. At fourteen and fifteen, he’d found that nobody wanted to share anything with a kid anyway. With his curly hair and his wide glasses, and especially since his growth spurt didn’t come until his sixteenth birthday, everyone saw him as too sweet and thought to ask about his studies or his parents instead. They felt the need to protect him, as if he hadn’t seen worse than any of them at far younger. He hates the pretending.

But he keeps his head dipped low, only answers questions when asked, scores just below the top ten, works at a flower shop, and does not compromise the mission. Soon, he thinks when it threatens to become too much to bear, it’ll be over. Until then, he’s stuck here.

He keeps his head down, but on the first day of his second year, it’s unavoidable.

“I’m not asking him!” a girl whisper-yells to an older boy while Akira’s walking to the Ginza line. “You do it! You’re the older one!”

“Sojiro-san is not going to be pleased to find out that you _lied_ about knowing where you were going in some poorly thought out attempt to look independent,” her companion hisses, only barely polite. Both of them are wearing Shujin Academy uniforms, but theirs are brand new. Akira’s about to open his mouth to ask if they’re lost, but recognition freezes him in place.

The girl is Isshiki Futaba. Her hair is orange now, but he would recognise the face from Wakaba-san’s photographs anywhere. His heart is in his throat, tunnel vision is starting up, he’s having a fucking panic attack because he can’t be seen with her, he can’t put her at risk, he can’t _compromise the mission_ because failure means death, he can’t —

“Excuse me.” It’s the guy she’s with. He’s pretty, light brown hair and brown eyes that look red in the lighting of the station. Akira thanks his lucky stars that he has a good poker face. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but you’re a student at Shujin Academy, right? My friend and I are new and having some trouble figuring out where to go. Would it be alright if we followed your lead?”

He could run away right now and pray that they don’t try to talk to him again. For a wild moment, it’s all he can think about, breaking off into a sprint and running out of the station. A single missed day of school could be excused if he explained what happened to Wakaba-san, and they’d think he was weird for running away so they’d never try to talk to him again, right? Akira would be gone, a ghost like he’s been trying to be for two years now, and Isshiki would be safe.

But she’s Isshiki’s daughter. If Akira ran away, she’d demand to know why. Any indication that there's something unusual about him, and she’d never leave him alone.

“Yeah, sure,” he agrees, adjusting the strap of his bag to dispel some of his nerves. “We’re almost there — we’re gonna transfer to the Ginza line right now.”

“Thank you so much,” the boy says in a relieved rush. “I’m Akechi Goro and my friend is Sakura Futaba. It’s nice to meet you.”

Sakura. Akechi. Akira plays them back in his head. Sakura, Akechi, Sakura, Akechi. “It’s nice to meet you too, Akechi-san, Sakura-san. I’m Amamiya Ren.”

After some pleasantries, Akira walks the three of them to the Ginza transfer. He pictures it as an escort mission, staying close enough to protect but far enough to not draw any attention. If he needs to, he’s strong enough now to play decoy in the real world or rush them to safety in the cognitive. There’s no way in hell he’s telling Wakaba-san about any of this.

“Are you a first year, Amamiya-san?” Isshiki — _Sakura,_ her name is Sakura — asks him when they’ve gotten lucky enough to grab three seats. Akira shakes his head and gestures to his second year badge.

“Just Amamiya is fine. And I’m a second year, actually.” After a moment of contemplation, “Shujin Academy is a good school. You’ll find your place soon.”

“Right…” She nods, clearly a little sceptical, but doesn’t say anything else. Akechi seems like he wants to ask something, backing away at the last minute and smiling at him instead. Akira returns it, then settles in to read. He keeps an eye out to make sure they’re alright without looking like a complete creep.

At Aoyama-Itchome, he gets up and gestures for them to follow him off. It’s raining, but all of them have come prepared with an umbrella, so they start the walk without any trouble, joining the other students making their way to class too.

“Screw that pervy teacher!” Sakamoto Ryuji swears at a passing car from under the safety of a building. “Ugh, and there’s this damn rain… What do _you_ want? You gonna try and rat me out to Kamoshida?”

Sakura had been staring. She startles at the full force of Sakamoto’s disdain and moves behind Akechi for protection, who frowns and holds his umbrella tighter. “Ah! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“What?” In his confusion, he’s forgotten to look like a delinquent. Like this, he looks like another student, save for the way he’s breaking dress code. “You tellin’ me you don’t know him? You go to Shujin, don’t you? You’re all wearing the uniforms.”

Akira thinks it’s about time to step in. “They’re both new, Sakamoto. It’s their first day.”

“Oh. No wonder.” Sakamoto nods sagely before his face sours all over again. “Well, stay away from Kamoshida. He thinks he runs the school, like some… king in a castle or somethin’, right, Amamiya?”

He goes to agree right before a dizzy spell hits him. He knows this feeling, Wakaba-san hasn’t been able to explain why he feels it when nobody else ever does. _No, no, no…_

“Whoa, you alright, man?” Sakamoto asks. Akira can feel the combined weight of three pairs of eyes on him. “Anyway, it doesn't look like the rain'll be lettin' up any time soon. We should get going before we’re late.”

The absolute last place that they should be going is to school. Akira fishes for his phone while pretending to walk calmly with everyone else, the goddamn case making it slippery in his hands at first.

 _“Are_ you alright, Amamiya?” Akechi has enough tact to murmur it so it won’t carry to Sakamoto and Sakura over the pittering of the rain. Akira makes a stupid little sound before finally getting a solid grip of his phone. He can’t check it until Akechi goes away.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I just got dizzy for a second, don’t worry about me.”

“I’m glad to hear that it’s passed now. It appears that there are some strong opinions on this Kamoshida. Would you happen to know anything about why?”

Of course Akechi is nosy, it would be too easy if Akira was walking with someone who wanted to mind his business. A glance to Sakamoto and Sakura for salvation tells him that they’re too far ahead to bring into the conversation.

“He’s the volleyball coach. Some stuff happened last year; Sakamoto is much more qualified to tell the story than I am.” _Stop asking, please, stop asking._

“Is that so?” Akechi keeps on pressing. Akira wouldn’t indulge him even under the best circumstances, but he’s especially reluctant right now. “Why is that? Was he involved somehow?”

Akira’s nearing the end of his rope and his window of opportunity is closing fast. “Yes.”

“I see.” Akechi’s muted and sheepish, averting his eyes now that he’s caught the hint. Akira would feel bad if he didn’t have much bigger things to worry about. “I apologise for overstepping. I only —”

 _SUCCESS._ Akira seizes the few moments that Akechi’s attention is entirely elsewhere and presses the button to transport them back to reality, heart pounding all the while. When it gives him the confirmation screen, the dizziness that comes with it is almost the best thing he’s ever felt.

“— wished to know the specifics of the situation. It seemed… Ah, never mind.”

Okay, now Akira can feel like shit.

“No, hey, um, look.” He waits until Akechi is looking at him again and gives him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. It makes sense that you’d want to know more about a school you’re transferring to, I get it. I shouldn’t have brushed you off like that. If you still want to know about it, I can talk to you after school or during lunch sometime.”

The stressed crease between Akechi’s brows tightens, then relaxes. “Thank you, Amamiya. I believe I’ll ask Sakamoto, if he’s willing to share, but the insight of someone not personally involved is equally important. Still, I apologise for pressing you on a serious issue as a virtual stranger. It was impolite of me.”

“Goro, stop being nosy and pay attention to me for a second!” Sakura’s voice comes before her short, orange head. “I’m leaving – Ryuji’s way cooler than you, so he’s taking me to my classroom instead.”

“How altruistic of him,” Akechi replies dryly. Sakura nods, purposely ignoring the sarcasm, and waves her goodbye with a promise to meet up after school, trailing behind Sakamoto.

With just the two of them left and the goal of getting to school without entering a Palace complete, there’s no reason for Akira to be here anymore. He adjusts his bag and opens his mouth to excuse himself.

“Do you need help getting to class?” his useless mouth says instead. Akechi _doesn’t_ need help; every year is on a corresponding floor and in alphabetical order.

“If you could be so kind,” There’s a genuine smile beginning to form around the corners of his eyes. “I would greatly appreciate it. My classroom is 3-C.”

They walk to Akechi’s class, which only takes a few minutes because nobody with working eyes would need assistance navigating Shujin Academy, and Akira is once again poised to leave when Akechi speaks.

“You’ve been a great help, Amamiya. I shouldn’t keep you for much longer, but…” He reaches into the pocket of his blazer and pulls out his cell phone. “Would it be alright if I asked for your chat ID? I don’t know very many people in Tokyo yet, so I’d like to keep in touch.”

This is a very bad idea. Sakura, and Akechi by extension, need to stay as far away from him as possible. Giving Akechi a way to contact him is in direct opposition of that. It’s like, rule number one to stay away from previous connections (however loose) when you’re supposed to be dead.

“Okay.” Akira thinks his mouth would serve him better if it was sewn shut and his hands if they were chopped off, shaking his phone with Akechi until their Line apps both ding with a nearby contact. “I’ll see you around, Akechi.” Except he really hopes that he doesn’t.

He sits in class afterwards and reaffirms to himself that saying any of this to Wakaba-san would be an even _worse_ idea, so he won’t. Sakura Futaba could have been anyone with her different hair colour and two years of puberty behind her, how was Akira supposed to recognise her? He just saw two students in need and helped them out.

He gets a piece of chalk stuck in his hair for his efforts. Holding the thing in his hand, he figures it’s about what he deserves.

 

***

 

Over dinner, Akira brings up Kamoshida's Palace. He leaves out the details, lest Wakaba-san tries to kill him for real, but he’s decided that it’s something that needs to be addressed. They should have thought of it before; with the way he treats the students and carries himself, it's been clear for ages that something about him is wrong. Checking for a Palace only takes a few seconds.

"So he views Shujin Academy as his own castle…” Wakaba-san puts down her chopsticks and looks through Akira. He doesn’t know what she’s actually seeing when she looks like this. “Along with the rumours of assault and harassment, I can only imagine how abhorrent it really is in his head. But handling a Palace is not currently something I know how to instruct you on. We don’t have enough data on it.” Aside from killing the owner’s Shadow, which Wakaba-san would never allow him to do.

Akira feels dirty. He’s showered twice already, but the grime is still sitting under his skin. “I know, I know. I just… I can’t sit by anymore. I should have checked before, I —”

“There’s no use in dwelling on the past, Akira.” She reaches over and gently loosens his grip on his glass, which has gone bone-white without his realising. There's no use in dwelling on the past, but there are seats in this home reserved for the ghosts of the people they've left behind. If their thoughts were enough to bring them back, they'd be necromancers thrice over, constantly clinging onto the memories of the lives they've had to abandon.

“I’ll see what I can do, but you have to give me time.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, relief still not quite completely replacing the nausea in his throat. He trusts her, of course. She saved him when he needed it most. And Wakaba-san will try her best to handle it quickly, but...

Everything is _always_ a matter of time. It has been a matter of time for two years now. More often now than ever, he worries that they’ll run out.

They eat the rest of their dinner without further instance. Akira tosses and turns for hours.

 

***

 

His phone buzzes a few days later, which is more than he had expected. Akira never entertained the idea of Akechi contacting him again after that first day, and he’s surprised to find that he’s not entirely filled with dread at the prospect of conversation. Something pleasant and simple with another person his age sounds… nice. Nicer than he’s had in a while.

 

 **akechi (now):**  This is Amamiya, correct?

 **me (now):** yeah. hey akechi

 **me (now):** how’s shujin treating you?

 **akechi (now):** Hello! Thank you again for helping Sakura and I on our first days. I’ve found Shujin Academy to be filled with a lot more excitement than I expected, but it’s been a smooth adjustment.

 **me (now):** glad to hear it

 **akechi (now):** To be honest, I have an ulterior motive in contacting you. Would you happen to know anyone personally affected by Kamoshida? Aside from Sakamoto Ryuji, of course.

 

Right. Maybe not, then. There’s nothing good that Akira can say about this. Now more than ever, he wishes that Akechi would be like the rest of the student body and mind his own business when it comes to Kamoshida. Akechi is a civilian; there’s no reason for him to get involved.

Minutes of indecision pass him by until he finally snaps out of it at the third ping.

 

 **akechi (9min):** It’s not a problem if you don’t, but I’ve been curious about his reputation ever since that first day.

 **akechi (5min):** I would still like to keep in contact with you aside from all of this, of course. I hope you don’t think I’m only interested in befriending you for information.

 **akechi (now):** Amamiya? Are you still there?

 **me (now):** i’m here.

 **me (now):** i really don’t think you should be poking into this, akechi.

 **me (now):** kamoshida is a huge can of worms.

 **akechi (now):** But you agree that something dark lurks beneath the surface?

 **me (now):** if any of the rumours are true, then yeah, he’s a complete bastard.

 **me (now):** but there’s a reason why he’s been getting away with it for so long.

 **me (now):** you should leave this alone.

 **akechi (now):** I see.

 **akechi (now):** Thank you for the warning, Amamiya. I will certainly keep it in mind.

 

***

 

Suzui Shiho tries to kill herself the next day. She’s on the volleyball team, he remembers like he’s underwater. The principal lets them out of school an hour later and Akira changes out of his uniform before it burns him.

He won’t remember what he does for the rest of the day.

The calling cards are posted only a week later and they are... horrendous.

Akira looks at the terrible drawing, reads the threat that the reverse side promises, and frowns.

“The Phantom Thieves of Hearts…” Akechi reads from over Akira’s shoulder, startling him. They’re both in school early; the crowds haven’t even begun to form around the bulletin board yet. Akira’s excuse is that Wakaba-san is allergic to sleeping in. He doesn’t know or want to know Akechi’s. “Hm. What do you think, Amamiya?”

He shrugs. “I think it’s bullshit. Can’t say I’d be mad if someone really had enough dirt on Kamoshida to make him confess, but the whole thing reads like someone wrote it in their bedroom last night and tried to sound threatening.”

To his surprise, Akechi laughs, a soft collection of sounds that escape like he didn’t have enough time to suppress them. “Yes, I suppose it does. I’m interested in seeing how this pans out tomorrow, though. Aren’t you?”

“Hey, what’re we talking about?” Sakura asks, and Takamaki and Sakamoto follow shortly behind her. “Whoaaaa, what’s that?”

“A calling card, it appears,” Akechi replies. “I was just speaking with Amamiya about the, how should I say, _language_ of the threat.”

“I don’t see nothin’ wrong with it.” Sakamoto makes an awful squawk when Takamaki Ann shoves him over to read one of the letters herself. Akira can see the exact moment when it registers, because she pulls the most unimpressed look he’s ever seen on a person’s face and groans.

“Ugh, Ryuji, are you serious? It’s so bad! Kamoshida’s probably not even gonna take it seriously!”

 _“We know how shitty you are,”_ Sakura reads in a deep voice before succumbing to snickers. “It’s total crap. ‘Utter bastard of lust’ sounds cool, though.”

“Hopefully, these supposed Phantom Thieves are better at obtaining confessions than they are at penning threats.” There’s a weight to counter the deceptive lightness of Akechi’s statement, but Akira doesn’t really get it. Akechi and all of his friends weird him out. To think he wanted to be one of them once. A fool's gambit, for sure.

“Yeah,” comes out lazily, disinterested, and he escapes with the influx of entering students before the conversation can continue.

 

***

 

All day, the only thing anyone seems to be able to talk about is the calling card, but Akira and the guy who sits behind him have a nice conversation about hanakotoba during lunch, so it’s not a total loss. Still, the uneasiness in his stomach refuses to settle. He’s not sure what’s causing it, but he doesn’t think he’ll like it when he figures it out.

After school, he goes to the Collective. With all of the excitement of the past two weeks, the eerie whispers from hidden natives and pulsing veins on the ground are a welcome distraction. They cancel out the worried white noise that’s been stuck in Akira’s head like cobwebs and let it finally clear into something concrete to focus his energy on.

He pokes his knife at one of the veins he’s walking next to, which bleeds something black and viscous when he punctures the membrane. It’s not blood, but it’s something similar, maybe. Akira’s told Wakaba-san before that he thinks the Collective is alive, and the constantly changing floors are its way of trying to protect itself from unwanted intruders (like him). She’d looked at him for a moment, one of her looking but not seeing moments, and said, _“Possibly, but it’s not in our best interest to find out for now.”_ She was right, of course, but he still wonders.

He has a target in mind, Nakamura Genjiro, but reaching him is slow-going; Akira’s been systematically checking every floor as he heads down for at least two hours now. At times like these, he usually wishes there was a more efficient way of finding Shadows than riding the train, but with the turmoil in his heart, repetitively hiding and listening out for enemies is comforting. Down here, an impossible number of levels below Shibuya’s Underground, Akira doesn’t have to think about Suzui Shiho or Kamoshida Suguru, or anything besides the task he’s been given.

When he reaches Nakamura, after cracking open several treasure chests and fighting enough enemies that his stamina is beginning to flag, the man is sitting primly at a large wooden table.

“Nakamura-san?” he asks, to make sure. He keeps his weapon in hand, but trained to the floor. Nonthreatening, for now.

“The very same. Who might you be?” Nakamura searches his face and clothes for something familiar. “You’re dressed like quite the gentleman. Did my associate bring you here?”

His associate. Despite his urge to spit vitriol at the very idea, Akira agrees. “Yes. I’ve been sent to receive a briefing from you on your current agenda.”

In his two years of experience within the Metaverse, he’s found that Shadows can be very talkative with the right encouragement. Without anything to do besides kill or threaten them (which is risky), Akira’s tasks have always been to extract information. What Wakaba-san does with the information, he has no clue, but similar to how she doesn’t ask how he negotiates for his part of the workload, he doesn’t ask much about her master plan to take down Shido.

“A briefing?” Nakamura’s eyes flicker around as if looking for someone to save him. “But our next meeting is in just two days. Surely it can wait until then…?”

“Sure. I’ll tell my employer that he’ll have to wait, then.”

Even as he turns on his heel, Akira can sense the moment when Nakamura’s face blanches. “No, no! No need to do that! I-If he wants to hear from me a bit earlier, that’s completely fine!”

There are several seconds of shuffling, almost entirely on Nakamura’s part, before he finally starts talking. “As expected, the increased pressure through his daughter has caused Harada to rescind his request to terminate his connection with the election campaign. With his support, your employer’s research will remain at full funding, with an additional stipend of two hundred thousand yen as apology for his misstep.

“In regards to the media, I have personally ensured that all coverage remains optimistic and maximum attention is given to your employer’s statements on the economy and the social climate of Japan. A new request has come in from Oku —”

Nakamura and Akira both scramble at the shaking of the Collective’s floors, a low groaning sound emanating without a discernible source. The veins around them pulse, violently red, for what feels like hours as the natives criy out to one another and Nakamura’s table slides away from them and breaks.

After it finally settles with no sight of armageddon, Nakamura shakily regards Akira once more. “T-Tell him that there’s been a change! I think… I think there’s someone who can access the Metaverse!”

 

***

 

Kamoshida confesses every single one of his crimes at the school assembly. Principal Kobayakawa attempts to keep him silent, pushing for the assembly to end and for everyone to go back to their classes, but Kamoshida hears none of it and none of the students or staff are inclined to leave. They’re rooted in place, shocked by the display of shame by the person they all either feared or adored. Even when Kamoshida has finished speaking, they remain, whispering and muttering to each other in an effort to make sense of everything. When Akira slips away and opens the MetaNav, it politely informs him that the Palace has been deleted.

_‘I will take responsibility and kill myself for it…!’_

_“Isn’t this… just like that calling card said…?”_

Akira tightens his grip on his phone, and suspects.

From then on, the only thing that anyone at Shujin can talk about is the Phantom Thieves. A website springs up overnight, and even the most strict teachers can’t stop the pockets of students that ignore lessons in favour of posting to the forums; chatting, theorising, thanking the Thieves.

 _Are the Phantom Thieves Real?_ _,_ the poll asks. The overwhelming majority says no, but the entire population of the minority goes to Shujin Academy, and by god, do they _believe._ Among Akira’s class, he can’t point out a single student who doesn’t hold complete faith in the Phantom Thieves, and why shouldn’t they? Kamoshida Suguru, a man who had been considered untouchable by students and staff alike, has been taken care of. The students that he abused have finally been given the opportunity to get their lives back. He’s at the mercy of a police department and public that are disgusted by him. It should be exciting.

Akira is not excited. After school, he flees to the rooftop for a reprieve. He’s not ready to go home yet, not interested in wallowing in silence for hours all over again. Wakaba-san comes home late — sometimes not at all — and what he needs is to feel less trapped, not alone.

He doesn’t expect to find a girl on the roof.

“Oh!” She looks up, a bit wildly, from a modest planter. Dirt cakes itself on her large gardening gloves. Akira blinks at her, and they engage in an awkward staring contest for several heartbeats, neither sure what to do with the sudden presence of the other.

“Sorry to interrupt —”

“Please don’t tell anyone!”

The girl’s outburst seems to take both of them by surprise. Silence stretches over them once more, until Akira’s really starting to get uncomfortable.

“Don’t tell anyone you’re… gardening on the school rooftop?” He fidgets with his glasses for something to do with his hands. “I don’t see why I _would,_ senpai.”

“Okumura Haru,” she introduces, finally standing up and removing her gloves. “I… don’t have anyone’s permission to be doing this. I’m not sure what the school would say to me growing vegetables on the rooftop without their approval, so I would appreciate it if you kept it a secret between us. Very much.”

“Alright.” It’s easy to agree; secretly growing vegetables isn’t exactly the most _flashy_ sort of rebellion against authority, but Akira respects it for what it is. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Okumura beams at him, and the effect isn’t even lessened by the dirt she hasn’t yet brushed off of her pink sweater. “Thank you so much! Did you come up here to enjoy the view, kohai? I’m sorry if I’m distracting you.”

Akira shakes his head and belatedly remembers that he hasn’t introduced himself yet. “Amamiya Ren. And uh, no, not exactly. I just didn’t feel like going home yet and needed something to do. Do you need any help?”

For a moment, it looks like Okumura is going to protest, but she gives him a look instead, as if she’s found something in his frame that speaks to her.

“Gardening is very good for getting your mind off of things,” she says gently, and he wonders what he must look like to her. “I’ve never had an assistant before, but transplanting the larger ones would be a lot easier with another set of hands!”

That’s exactly what they do. Akira is woefully unsure of the proper way to transplant a plant, usually leaving the care of planted flowers to Mishiro-san, but Okumura is patient and Akira is a quick-learner, so they make it work between the two of them. They don’t speak much aside from simple small talk; Akira apparently unlocks the chatty part of her when he asks her about her gardening hobby, and she talks his ear off about it for at least half an hour. It’s one of the simplest, nicest afternoons he’s had in a while.

“Goodness!” Okumura cries eventually. “I’m so sorry for keeping you for so long!”

He looks at his phone in surprise, the display happily informing him that it’s 17:53. He was too busy enjoying himself to notice time passing. “Hey, it’s alright, Okumura-senpai. I came to get distracted, remember? And this is about when club hours wrap up anyway, so it’s not that late.”

There’s some shuffling while Okumura cleans herself up and gives the plants a final once-over. “Thank you so much for all of your help, Amamiya-kun. I’m usually here on Tuesdays and Saturdays, weather permitting, so if you ever need a respite, please don’t hesitate!”

 

***

 

Spending time with Okumura is certainly safer than spending it with Akechi, so whenever Akira feels so lonely that he thinks he's going to do something drastic in an effort to ignore it, he visits her after school. She's there exactly when she says she will be, and she never asks what burden he's bearing that's driving him into hanging out with a stranger to forget about it for a while. She rarely asks questions at all, usually more keen on making small talk or sharing tidbits of information about herself. Even then, she's private; Akira gets the impression that she doesn't completely trust him, which he thinks is fair enough. As it turns out, he has a criminal record and access to a cognitive world that he can decide to visit and kill her in whenever he'd like. The name she calls him by so politely isn't even his own. Distrust is to be expected.

Akechi still messages him too, little things like he actually thinks he can wear Akira down through good morning messages and mostly one-sided ramblings about morality. But Akechi is still a bad idea, more and more every day, and he should have never gotten Akira's phone number in the first place. Briefly, when the messages interrupt him in the middle of making lock-picks, Akira entertains the idea of asking him what it's like to be a Phantom Thief. It would be very funny to see his face in the aftermath.

"Akechi-kun is looking for you," Okumura says lightly over lunch. She loves to tease.

He resists, with great self-control, the urge to turn around and verify for himself. "Is that so." 

It's Golden Week and short of any other friends, Okumura and Akira have been bound together by circumstance. She always pays for her meals and she's typically a good conversationalist, so he at least keeps good company.

"It is. I think I'll wave him over, Mako-chan is with him. Mako-chan! Akechi-kun!"

Most of the time, anyway. In the minute before Akechi makes it to their table, Akira contemplates defenestrating himself. He's never done it before, and one should aim to experience as much as one can in one's brief existence, right? Or maybe he'll snap and throw Akechi out instead, his sweater vest catching on shards of glass until they glitter just bright enough to look like diamonds, framing him like some visage of delicate divinity before he crashes to the ground.

Ugh. Akira kills the route his thoughts are going down by pinching himself hard under the table. Obsession is a terrible look on him. He doesn't even understand why he can't bring himself to ignore Akechi, why his annoying pestering still does something to keep Akira coming back. It's as if something is pulling them together, something he dares not name, and he hates it.

"Okumura-chan, Amamiya-kun," Akechi greets. Niijima appears at his side, smiling at Okumura with such sweetness that it's painful to witness. He feels like he's intruding despite the fact that  _Niijima_ is the only one being intrusive and represses the urge to scowl. Interaction is a constant test of self-restraint unless it's with Okumura. Absolutely awful. How did he do this before?

"Hello," he replies to be polite, but all it seems to do is bolster Akechi's confidence. Niijima greets him back with a smile, but it's nowhere near as brilliant as the one she gave Okumura. Not that he minds, because he _really_ doesn't.

"Would you like to sit with us?" Okumura asks, all sugar, and damn her, because both Akechi and Niijima seem eager to accept the invitation. Niijima takes the seat next to Okumura while Akechi sits next to him, all four of them probably looking like a merry band of friends on a pleasant get-together.

"How lucky that we would meet here by chance, Amamiya-kun," Akechi says. He's wearing his brightest smile like it's supposed to be impressive. "One might even call it fate."

"One might call it stalking a bit more readily."

That catches Akechi off-guard. He laughs, but there's a tenseness around his eyes now. Akira wonders how right he was, to put a dent in Akechi's ever-present armour. Maybe he and Niijima both are stalkers — but that's being a bit too bitter, even for him. Okumura enjoys Niijima's company just as much as Niijima enjoys hers, so it isn't like she's trying to go where she isn't wanted.

"Akechi-kun," Okumura interrupts. "Mako-chan told me that you're helping her with her student council duties?"

Akechi nods and takes a sip of his water. "That's right. I'm not nearly as efficient as Niijima-chan, but even someone as dedicated to their duties as her sometimes requires assistance. I'm more of a secretary than anything else, but I'm more than happy to lend a hand!"

"It's very thoughtful of you. Mako-chan doesn't seem like she's overworking herself as much as before," Okumura says. She smiles again when Niijima splutters  _I don't overwork myself!_ with an embarrassed frown. "How are you handling the requests for the Phantom Thieves? I've noticed them making their presence known across the suggestion board."

Akira's noticed too. The anonymous board for requests for the student council has rapidly deteriorated into a mess of pleas for the Phantom Thieves. Cheating boyfriends, overbearing parents, rude bosses; the volume of requests is hefty enough at any given moment that just thinking about it makes Akira's head hurt. Everyone seems to have a problem for the Thieves to solve.

He's also in the unique position to notice when Akechi subtly tenses again, as if he needed further confirmation that he's a Phantom Thief. Ridiculous. Isn't he supposed to be a genius? How is it that Akira can read him so easily?

It's Niijima who answers this time, as she should. She's the president, after all. "The number of requests is... significant." Understatement of the year. Akira can't even remember what colour the board used to be. "I can't contact the Phantom Thieves, obviously, but I've taken to resolving some of the more simple requests. Listening to students and mediating conversations isn't as flashy as sending a calling card, but the results are still the same. If the Thieves take credit for it... at least I've done my job."

She's just as smart and well-spoken as he imagined she would be, but it's different to hear it for himself. Okumura seems dazzled by the speech, clapping her hands together and grinning, and Akechi nods as though offering Niijima his approval. To avoid being the odd one out, Akira pushes up his glasses and offers her a smile of his own. He keeps it small because his real smiles have never stopped looking mischievous.

"Oh, Mako-chan, you're so sweet!" Niijima flushes brick red, but Okumura pays it no mind and hugs her. "It's no wonder you're our president!"

"It must take you a lot of time to make it through all of the requests," Akira offers to spare Niijima from what appears to be her soul making a valiant effort to escape her body in embarrassment. "It's nice of you to take the time to do it anyway."

"Thank you, Amamiya-kun," Makoto says, a little stiff in the aftermath of Okumura's hug. "But that's enough talk about school and the Phantom Thieves. How have all of you been spending your days off? Taking time for yourself is good, but it's important to keep up with your studies."

Niijima lectures them for a few more minutes before Akechi switches the topic some television show that Akira isn't familiar with. It must be popular though, because the three of them talk for a couple of hours, bouncing around from the show, to their studies (again), to food, and back again. Akira is quiet for most of it, but chimes in at some points — outside of school and without constant reminders of the Phantom Thieves, he feels far more at ease. They still make an effort to include him despite his reservedness, asking questions about his life that he answers with lies so well practised that they come even easier from his mouth than the truth does.

It's not... the worst afternoon, he decides when he thinks back on it that night. Akechi was almost tolerable.

 

***

 

"I've cross-referenced the information you gathered from Nakamura with my own sources," Wakaba-san says over dinner. She almost picked up more convenience store bentos, but Akira was quick to assure her that he could cook something, so his taste buds were shared. He isn't as good at making her special curry, so he doesn't try to replicate it: his own is spicier and simpler, but he likes them both.

Akira perks up with anticipation. Nakamura is the most promising source they've had in a while; if Akechi and his friends had waited a few goddamn seconds before changing Kamoshida's heart, he would have gotten  _two_ names instead of only one. He shovels a spoonful of curry into his mouth to soothe the frustration that bubbles up within him all over again at the thought. It doesn't matter now that Wakaba-san has done her part.

"Your friend, Okumura Haru," Wakaba-san starts after a pause, and Akira is already uneasy. "Her father is one of Shido's conspirators. If he follows the pattern, then he'll have a Palace as well. Your task is to glean as much as you can about him from his daughter and use that to prepare yourself from collecting information from his Palace. Understood?"

He wants — he wantsto say yes, but something in his throat has closed up and all he can think about is Okumura sitting with him on the roof, teasing him, teaching him how to garden. Taking one look at him, a complete stranger, and telling him that he's welcome to visit the one place she's fully comfortable at. Okumura is... Somewhere along the way, Okumura has genuinely become his friend. To trick her into giving him the tools to orchestrate her father's downfall, to abuse the very small level of trust she's put into him, feels despicable.

But _Shido._ Taking down Shido is the only thing that forces him awake most mornings. Akira has lost everything to this man: his parents, his friends, his safety, his happiness, his  _identity._ Sometimes Akira is so angry at the world and at Shido that it feels like the only emotion he's capable of fully experiencing anymore. He can't...

"Understood," he whispers, forcing himself to make the decision. He's in too deep already, he can't back out now because of some stolen afternoons on a roof and conversations at diners.

He goes to bed reluctantly and uncomfortably, for no reason he will allow himself to name.

 

***

 

 _In his dreams is velvet blue again. It takes him by surprise, even more when he finds that he's lying on a bed this time._ _Akira stands quickly and looks at the prison cell he's found himself in. That man with the long nose said that this place reflects the state of his heart, right? He wants to say that it's wrong now on principle, because having a prison for a heart is pretty pathetic, but the same feeling of rightness burns from within him. Still, he could do without the ball chain around his right foot._

_In front of the cell is a warden's desk, and Akira comes face to face with a fair-haired boy in a blue suit who looks to be his age, watching him with one yellow eye, the other covered by his hair. He appears just as inhuman as Igor and Lavenza did, but he doesn't feel quite so old, nor so distant, and Akira vastly prefers him to either of the other two._

_"Trickster," the boy greets, looking as surprised to see him as Akira is. "Your path has finally been set. My master is out at the moment. Are you here to form a deal?"_

_Akira thinks about it, then says, "What's your name? I want to know more about you before I go making deals."_

_The boy seems to accept this. He's not overtly emotional after recovering from his surprise, regarding Akira with a completely neutral expression. "Henry."_

_"Nice to meet you. I'm Akira."_

_"I know."_

_Henry doesn't appear to be very talkative either. It's refreshing, considering the company that Akira reluctantly (and not-so-reluctantly) usually keeps. While he muses about it, Henry walks out from behind the desk and unlocks the cell that Akira's being held inside of. Rather than guide him out or something, all he does is hold the door open and wait patiently for Akira to get the hint and step out, then summons a chair from what might be thin air and set it next to his own._

_"What are you?" Akira asks. He takes the offered seat, noting before he does that Henry is pretty short._

_"A doll given life, in many ways," Henry replies as if that isn't at all creepy. "It is the duty of an attendant to aid those with your powers, and separate ones are created by my master to suit the needs of each of them. My sister is yours."_

_"Lavenza?" When he gets a nod as response, Akira pulls a face. "Well, no offence, but I think I like you more. Can't you be my attendant instead? Preferably without Igor either."_

_"I..." Henry pauses for some time, his face still just as blank as it has been for most of their encounter. It gives Akira time to notice the distant singing and piano coming from somewhere in the building. It feels nostalgic, as if he's heard it before, and it comforts him further. This visit is already much better than his previous one._

_"If that is what you wish," Henry says after so long that Akira's nearly forgotten what he's responding to. He stretches his hand out between them. "I do not have the power to summon you here on my own, so you will have to be the one to do so in the future."_

_Akira takes the hand and shakes it. Immediately, he feels a flood of power rush through him, so intense that he nearly falls out of his chair. His Persona whispers, in a language he doesn't know but somehow understands, "Thou hast sought solace in the Fool Arcana. There is both joy and wonder in coming to understand another.”_

_Interestingly, Henry seems equally affected and they cling onto one another's hand with twin groans. Akira is especially displeased with the headache that he can feel building behind his eyes. "What was that?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "Why did my Persona call you a fool?"_

_"The formation of our deal. I believe he was informing you of my influence in your life as the Fool Arcana. The Major Arcana can be understood as the Fool's journey, and they are key to growing your powers. These special bonds were not be able to form until now. You may find that the Arcanas of some of your confidants have been already been revealed."_

_He's right. Akira has a certainty somewhere in the back of his mind: Okumura Haru, the Sun; Akechi Goro; Justice; Isshiki Wakaba, the Empress. Henry; the Fool._

_"What am I to you? Does it work both ways?"_

_"Not... typically," Henry says with some reluctance. "Velvet Room attendants do not usually require the power of the Wild Card in such a fashion. But to me, you are the Hanged Man."_

_A buzzer sounds before Akira can ask about what the Hanged Man represents. "Goodbye, Trickster. Until we meet again."_

_Akira stumbles and falls back under with a renewed resolve, greater powers, and the feeling that his journey has just gotten a lot harder._

 

_END PROLOGUE_

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally gonna be one long oneshot but i want it out of my drafts so now it's a series


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